


To Meet Again

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Feral Behavior, Pegging, Power Dynamics, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 08:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17680262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Basira is the carrot, Daisy is the stick, Peter is most definitely the ass. The metaphor stopped making sense a while ago.





	To Meet Again

Daisy broke into the Institute in the dead of night and curled up beneath Basira's desk. It was cute, really, in the same way bears and wolves could be cute when they weren't ripping your face off. Peter knelt next to Basira's chair and gave an indulgent little sigh; beneath the desk, Daisy stared back at him. Apparently in her absence she had developed a tapetum lucidum. "Gonna flash your teeth at me?" Peter asked, pitching his voice high and affable, the kind of tone one might use on a skittish stray.

  
"Basira," Daisy replied. Her voice was a ruined rasp, her mouth warped from all the teeth.

  
"Yeah, I know," Peter said soothingly. "She won't be back for a while. Come on out." He inched backwards, giving her space to bolt if she wanted to. Instead, Daisy cautiously unfolded herself, eyes locked on him. Peter looked up at her, smiling placatingly. "There we are. Better?"

  
Perhaps Daisy slamming a knee into his solar plexus was predictable. Peter imagined Elias laughing at him as he grunted and collapsed into a sprawl on his back, Daisy straddling him with a claw at his throat. _"Where?"_ Daisy demanded, her grief-stricken howl cracking the word in two.

  
"Told you," Peter wheezed, "not here. And if you keep this up, you'll never see her again." Daisy growled and reared back, and around them the Institute faded into thick, white fog. Daisy hesitated, her claws catching the thin light; Peter huffed out a laugh. "See? I'm scary too. Let's chat, hunter."

  
For a moment, the very real possibility that Daisy would kill him anyway hung in the air, and Peter relished it while it lasted. Then, slowly, she backed off, retracted her claws, breathing heavily as she stood. She didn't offer him a hand up, but she let Peter stand unimpeded, eyeing him warily. "More of you left than I'd thought," Peter said, brushing himself off. He straightened, tugged his collar back into place, and offered Daisy an arm. She didn't take it, and he shrugged. "Suit yourself."

* * *

 

The hunter could not have looked more out of place in Peter's apartment, a smear of forest grime against fine china. "Bathroom's down that hall if you want to clean up," Peter said airily, shedding his outer layers as he wandered into the kitchen. "Food, too, if you still eat--"

  
The knife sank into the wall next to Peter's head nearly to the hilt, and Peter smiled without turning around. He could feel Daisy's breath, burning hot against the back of his neck; the hand coiled tightly around the knife handle was human, but only with visible effort, tendons straining, muscles shaking. "Where is she," Daisy snarled. Peter turned into half-embrace of her trembling arm. _"Where is she?"_

  
"Oh, hunter," Peter cooed, "do you want her to see you like this?"

  
The expression that crossed Daisy's face was perfect, if brief. Months or even years of pent-up longing, expressed in a minute twitch of her lips, a half-second fluttering of her eyelashes. Peter smiled dreamily, even as Daisy's features settled back into a scowl. "Why," she spat. "Why--take me here?"

  
"You seemed lonely," Peter said, and it wasn't a lie. He reached up and tucked a flyaway strand of hair back behind Daisy's ear; she twitched violently away from the contact. "Let's make a deal, you and I. You'd be helping Basira. Maybe eventually you'd even get to see her." And _that_ wasn't a lie. Elias and his insistence on the truth must have rubbed off on him. And if Peter forgot to mention that Daisy might no longer care by the time she saw Basira again, well, these little slip-ups happened. It was only human.

  
"Fine," Daisy said stiffly. She ran her tongue over her teeth, slicing it open. Peter would have said she hadn't noticed if not for the way she swallowed the blood. "Like Bouchard?" she asked.

  
"Something like that, yes," Peter said. "Never hurts to have someone with your skillset on the team, does it?"

  
"Team," Daisy spat, derisive, but she didn't break away.

  
"Right!" Peter said brightly. He laced his fingers with Daisy's, still wrapped around the knife, and began wriggling the blade to tug it out of the wood. "So, you kill all the beasties I ask you to kill-- _just_ the ones I ask you to, mind--and I give you protection. A way to stalk your prey completely undetected. You've made quite a lot of enemies, Daisy." The knife pulled free and Peter took Daisy's free hand, wrapped it around the handle. "How does that sound?"

  
Daisy rolled the knife between in her tenuously-human palms. "It helps Basira?" she asked, and the tiny, barely-there hope in her voice was honey and rose petals. Peter smiled, all teeth, and nodded. "...Fine," Daisy said. "For her. Not you."

  
"Of course," Peter said. "Though feel free to stop by anytime."

* * *

 

She did--stop by that is--they always did. If all you ever saw were horrible monsters trying to eat you and an affable monster _not_ trying to eat you, well. Spending time with Peter started to have its own appeal, didn't it?

  
Daisy was wired, pacing around Peter's living room, plucking trinkets off of surfaces to examine them, grow bored with them, and replace them, usually off-center. Peter watched her over the top of his book, grinning. There was blood still shiny on her boots. "Good hunt?" Peter asked.

  
Daisy grunted at him. "Basira?" she asked. She wasn't a very good conversationalist. But then, Peter imagined she never really had been.

  
"Not yet," Peter said. He marked his place in his book and stood, wandering over to where Daisy had been inspecting a fossilized nautilus shell. "That one was a gift," Peter said. "I don't _think_ it's cursed, but who knows." He shrugged, watching Daisy run her fingertip over the opalized spiral, undeterred. "If you're missing her so badly, we can always--"

  
Daisy turned, hooked a claw around the back of Peter's neck, and yanked him in to press a biting kiss to his collarbone, as if she had only been waiting for him to get close enough before she pounced. Peter laughed, tilting his head back, and let her manhandle him into the bedroom, making pleased little humming noises whenever she drew blood.

  
She was never human, when they did this. She just never made the effort, and far be it from Peter to insist. Not when her teeth and claws were always put to such good use. She shredded Peter's clothes like paper, then shredded the skin beneath just as easily, and Peter arched up into it, a long, sinuous movement like a wave before it crests. "You want me to fuck you," Daisy said, not a question or a request but a blunt statement of fact, tinged with disdain and the smallest amount of eagerness. Her hand had already drifted to press firmly behind Peter's balls, claws and all.

  
"I just want you to enjoy yourself," Peter said. It was half-true. He _did_ want her to fuck him.

  
Daisy snorted, leaning off the bed to fish through Peter's bedside table. "I always do," she said. She sounded irritated at that, her voice edged with disgust, though Peter could never tell if it were more at him or at herself. She must have found his smirking more irritating than either of them, however; she slung one of his legs over her shoulder and dipped between his thighs, licking a wet path over his hole, circling it with the pointed tip of her tongue, her eyes flicking up to watch his face as he moaned.

  
It was unfair, Peter thought, how good Daisy was with her mouth, especially considering she had only grown more and sharper teeth since she'd returned. Not that he particularly minded the teeth.

  
He gasped and arched up off the bed, tried to press against her mouth only to be met with hands pinning down his hips, the faintest scrape of fangs over his skin as he squirmed. "I'll bite you," Daisy warned, murmuring the words against his thigh so they vibrated along his skin.

  
"Don't threaten me with a good time," Peter said, but went still, clutching at the headboard as she devoured him. Her mouth burned against him, and when she yanked his hips back and up and buried her face between his thighs, he went willingly. Careful finesse gave way to sloppy, selfish licks, her tongue flat and dripping, Daisy's claws sinking deeper into the meat of Peter's flank. He hooked his legs behind her head and writhed, slow and indulgent, knuckles going white as he arched up off the bed.

  
"You want me to fuck you," Daisy said again, "or are you gonna get off on my tongue?" She licked her lips, pointed, and arched an eyebrow at him. She pressed one blunt, human finger against his hole, soft and wet, pushed just barely inside and watched the way it made his cock twitch.

  
"Your tongue is easily my favorite part of you," Peter said, not bothering to hide how his voice trembled. (Elias would hide it. Peter never saw the point.) "But I bought you a present. It would be a shame for you not to test it out."

  
"A present," Daisy said, short and dry and more grounded than she ever was outside the bedroom. She leaned over and shuffled through Peter's nightstand; Peter watched her face morph into a strange mix of shock and scorn and amusement. "You bought me a gold cock," she said flatly, and dumped Peter's hips onto the bed. She stood, fluid, and Peter sat up on his elbows to watch her. "You're a fuckin'..." She trailed off, muttering to herself, but slipped the dildo into the harness, and the harness over her hips. She cradled it in her palm, testing the weight of it. She caught Peter staring out of the corner of her eye and glowered, her eyes catching the light. "Want me to say thanks?"

  
"It's only polite--"

  
Peter was honestly unsure of how she managed to flip and pin him on his stomach so quickly. He'd have to ask Elias for the play-by-play next time he visited him. In the meantime, Daisy rolled her hips and her cock sank into him in a smooth, liquid thrust; Peter gasped, a little startled at how easily his body had opened up for her, knocked slightly off balance when her hips went flush against his ass, her dick sheathed completely inside him. "That was--" he managed; Daisy didn't pull back, only ground forward, impossibly deeper, grinning savagely as his sentence dissolved into an incoherent babble. "--a lot, that was a lot," he hissed, when he found his voice again.

  
"Everything you imagined?" Daisy purred. She rolled her hips in a slow, luxurious circle; rubbing herself off more than fucking him properly, but her cock was deep enough that even that small movement sent sparks up Peter's spine. "Pretty little rich boy fantasizing about getting fucked on a gold cock? You're getting predictable, Lukas."

  
"Nngh--you think I'm pretty?" Peter managed, and went limp against the pillows. "Nicest thing you've-- _fucking hell--_ ever said to me."

  
Daisy grunted above him. Her hand sank into his hair, pressing his face hard enough into the pillow that his air supply grew stale and hot. She didn't fuck him, didn't pull out, gave him no moment of respite from being fucked full, just rolled her hips against him in a torturous, greedy cycle. The sheets beneath him became slowly soaked with the precome dripping steadily from his cock. He moaned, muffled, and arched up; he didn't have any leverage to do it properly and Daisy snorted. "This doing it for you?" she asked. He grunted, dropped his hips back onto the bed and rubbed his cock futilely on the sheets. She laughed above him.

  
When Daisy came, silent and tense, Peter was shaking beneath her, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Daisy collapsed, draping herself across Peter's back in a languid sprawl, biting almost absently at his shoulder. "Daisy," Peter spat, his voice shivering with want and warning and impatience. "If you don't _mind?"_

  
Daisy huffed out an irritated noise, lifted her hips, and gave him one rough, lazy thrust. That was enough. Peter cursed as he came, fingers twisting in his thoroughly ruined sheets, torn between indignant protests and hysterical laughter that that was all it took.

  
While Peter panted against the sheets, Daisy stood, dumping the harness on the mattress next to him, stretching with a series of loud pops as her spine shifted subtly, her claws retracted, her countenance morphed into something easier to see as human. She eyed him distastefully, and Peter didn't hide his smile at the expression on her face. "Do you feel better?" Peter asked, knowing full well the answer.

  
Daisy shrugged, one-shouldered, and didn't quite manage to hide the terrible abyss behind her eyes. "Anything else you want me to kill tonight?"

  
"Go home," Peter said, rolling onto his back and stretching his own spine. It didn't change. Peter Lukas always looked so very human. "I can give you a lift if you want."

  
"No, I...I'll walk," Daisy said. _I want to see people,_ she didn't say. _I want to know I can still see people._

  
"Suit yourself," Peter said, and waved her off. She wouldn't see anyone on her way home. Peter glanced at his sheets, at the rudely abandoned strap-on harness, and counted in his head the days since Daisy's last kill.

  
He settled on three more days before she would see anyone at all.


End file.
